


Immoral Confinement

by Copito



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copito/pseuds/Copito
Summary: Prowl manages to catch a certain decepticon scout and decides to confine him for some wicked and unscrupulous purposes.





	Immoral Confinement

**Author's Note:**

> That moment when you finish your first fic and is a non-con.  
> I promise I will try something more consensual next time :'D
> 
> Warnings: prowl being a bastard, and a not so happy ending...

The nasty contaminated odor of rusty metal was beginning to become a nauseous smell for Barricade's olfactory sensors.

He had been confined in this unknown place for four whole solar cycles; he knew that because his internal time chronometers were still functioning. It was one of the few things that _he_ had left functional in his frame. Not the same could be said about the rest, though.

The Mustang Saleen lifted his helm, looking up at his restrained wrists. The first night after being captured, he had pulled with all his strength to get himself free, had trashed incessantly trying to found a loosen in this confinement to let him escape. 

He had even swallowed his pride and had screamed until his throat plates hurt, trying to let know to some lost faction mate that he was there. Trapped and in need of help.

Nothing worked. 

It had been four solar cycles, and the lack of a good refuel of energon was already showing signs in the frame of the Decepticon scout. He didn’t have the same force, even his fighting attitude was decreasing notably.

A minus ex-vent escaped his intake. He didn’t know what was going to happen to him. 

At first, when he had been trapped, Barricade thought that _Prowl_ was going to drag him to the Autobot base and confine him there. Probably for later start a boring interrogatory in vain attempts to squeeze some information from him.

The final result was definitely not what he expected.

When Barricade was still wriggling to escape the trap, the Autobot tactician throw a look at him, and while he approached, a tiny dart was deployed on one of his digits.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that that was some sort of paralyzer.

Darkness from off-lined systems welcomed him after that.

And when he rebooted again, he was already in the current position. Sitting in his knees, with his wrists completely retrained adobe his helm and, to probably even more humiliating details, a collar on his neck.

He wouldn’t have ever guessed that Prowl has some nasty sense of humor.

But another thing that he hadn’t guessed was, for now, the non-active attitude that the Autobot tactician had taken.

So far, Prowl had limited himself to come to the place to only keep a sort of guard; and for the few hours that he stayed in the place, he usually did nothing more than look at him with that stupidly stoic face of his.

Barricade noted that the same could be said about his frame, as he had only suffered from disabled connections and weapons, retrained mobility and deficiency of correct feeding. 

Considering the circumstance, it could be worse.

Still, he guessed it would be a question of time until the slagging Autobot decided to start doing something _truly_ bad against him.

Speaking of it...

The sound of a rusty door was suddenly heard. Prowl was back. 

The Mustang Saleen relaxed his posture all he could, resting the weight of his frame on his bent legs. He had decided the previous night that he would try to still escape this confinement, and wasting his remained energy in struggling wouldn’t help him.

From the darkened part of the full-scale room, the figure of Prowl emerged tall and straight. His serious optics were already posing in his nemesis surprisingly quiet form. This raised some questions in him.

"No more struggle? Not a scream or even a profanity?" Prowl said as he stopped in front of his prisoner. "I’m surprised Barricade. I expected you to not give up at least until the fifth solar cycle."

Barricade lifted his helm softly, his four optics meeting Prowl's ones. "Well, why don’t you come here and we exchange places. I can do the job on supervising you personally, and we can later compare if you can do a fragging better job." 

The notorious biting words made Prowl form a soft smile. "Sarcastic. That definitely sounds more like you." 

"Whatever. I’m more concerned in knowing when the Pit are you going to start your stupid interrogatory or whatever you are trying. You had kept me four long solar cycles in here, my arms hurt and my tanks are starting to eat themselves," The Saleen's dentas were showing already, contained anger a bit unable to disguise. "What’s keeping you waiting? Your dear comrades still not being here?"

Prowl continued eyeing at him. His cold optics always infuriated Barricade in many levels, but in the current situation, the Saleen thought he was seeing something different in them. Something he couldn’t decipher.

"You think that I will bring others to this place?" A brief laugh escaped Prowl mouth-plates. "You can get that thought out of your processor. Nor I’m planning any interrogatories." 

Barricade narrowed his optics, watching the Autobot approach him. 

"Then what is your grandiose idea? Are you planning in making me starve in here until I die?" 

Prowl stopped very close to him. The Saleen had to lift his helm even more or all he would see was the tactician pelvic plates. Barricade knew that Prowl was at least a helm taller than him but from the current perspective it was like looking up at someone like Blackout.

"Although, you are not far from it…since those were my initial ideas," Prowl’s voice sounded low and exasperating slow. The tactician laid a servo down his chin and pulled, obliging the Mustang to straighten his posture.

"At first I supposed I should bring you to the base, make you our hostage, try to get some information out of that thick helm of yours," A thumb was suddenly guided against the intake of the Saleen, who couldn’t hold back the necessity of averting said digit. Prowl didn’t let him.

"But then I asked myself, should I let pass the chance to enjoy this catch a little longer? Maybe in some private, solitary place?" 

Barricade remained still, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. It’s surely was just him coming to the wrong conclusion…or Prowl was simply messing with some new strategy to scare him off.

But then...

The click of a panel opening echoed, and Barricade actually wasn't surprised to see Prowl's turgid, engrossed spike in front of him.

"I wasn’t thinking you were capable of doing something like this…" He murmured, seeing how the fragger was already _dripping_ (probably from witnessing his in-chained frame).

"Many are incapable of doing the same thing surely."

Because it was _not_ the right thing to believe that one of Optimus Prime top lieutenants, the correct, respectable, serious Autobot Prowl would do such a thing as rape a prisoner.

Barricade snorted at the thought.

Not losing any minute more, Prowl readjusted his servo and pulled the back of Barricade’s helm.

"Fold those dentas now. We can do it in the nice or the bad way Barricade. It’s your choice..."

"You got to be slagging kidding me…" Barricade spat between gritted dentas.

The Decepticon scout didn’t want it either way. He, in fact, would gladly let that disgusting spike into his mouth just for latter deploy his sharp dentas _into_ it and entertain himself with the image of Prowl screaming in pain. 

But he also recognized that the disadvantage was all on his side, as Prowl was deploying his weapon in his free servo, all the intentions of doing it the ‘bad way’ if he didn’t obey. 

His frame felt so weak, he didn’t have sufficient force to fight. And as Barricade folded back his dentas, he realized that this had surely been Prowl whole intentions,

_Wait until his energon levels were so low that he wouldn’t have enough force to fight._

Prowl began to push his whole spike inside the slender hot cavity, groaning deeply as his cooling fans started to spin. 

The tactician didn’t take long to set a slow pace of withdraws and pushes, felling how the plates in the mouth of his prisoner contracted at the presence of his hard length.

"Dear Primus, some of my comrades were not wrong when they joked that your intake surely feels great to frag..."

It, indeed, felt like greatness, like the sweet flavor of victory. He had already been half rigid the past solar cycles from seeing his nemesis chained at his complete mercy but this, the very sight and feel of the decepticon’s intake wrapped around his spike was borderline too much.

Barricade, for his part, had offlined his optics, preferring to at least not view anymore. If the smell of the putrid place was already making him nauseous, then he was sure that after this he would empty whatever was still left in his poor tanks.

Prowl picked even more pace. He wanted to touch the very back of that throat with the tip of his cord. He did understand that what he was doing was a really really incorrect and horrendous act -and with what he was planning on doing latter even worse- but at the very moment he was purely dominated by his instincts. The temptation had been too great to contain the past cycles…

Using both his servos to maintain the helm still, Prowl pushed until Barricade's mouth-plates met his crotch array, and keep him _there_. The lithe, snarky intake of the Decepticon scout stuffed full of his cord.

When Prowl felt that he was going to overload right there, he pulled out with a deep growl, trying his best to control his incoming transfluid, as Barricade coughed harshly, doing throwing up sounds but nothing really coming out from him. 

Prowl couldn’t contain a smirk at the delightful sight of Barricade's intake opened and still sporting lightly strands of _his_ pre-transfluid hanging from it.

He was, in fact, planning to overload inside the Decepticon, but in another particular orifice.

The feeling of being choked had really make Barricade want to purge but apparently, his tanks were so empty that almost nothing came out. Even so, the revolting sensation still burned his throat and his vision had on-lined foggy and watered.

"You are so dead b-bastard," He snarled between hard in-vents of air, his whole frame trembling in rage. "J-just wait unt-til I get out from here, you f-fraggin-"

The sudden release of his arms made Barricade's top frame meet the ground with a rather hard thud, and the dizziness on his vision was only accentuated even more when Prowl pulled from his pedes to drag his body across the hard steel floor.

He was on his back now, with the disgusting tactician adjusting himself between his opened thighs. Barricade wanted to trash desperately, give the bastard a good kick in his helm; but really…what could he do in this position? And if he managed to get Prowl off of him…what could he do after that?

Prowl laid his mouth-plates in the curve of Barricade's neck, inhaling the admittedly delicious scent the frame of the Decepticon expelled. That was something he had noted in previous battles, but obviously had never told to anyone except for himself in his recharge nights; thinking, dreaming...how would be to have that tenacious enemy scout below him?

This was a dream come true. Prowl felt powerful, dominant as he started rubbing his pelvic array in the still sealed interface plates of his prey, looking how Barricade averted him by lading his helm.

"Don’t fear this Barricade. I’m not going to hurt you," Prowl crooned in a calm, almost sweet tone, using his glossa to taste every seam and cable available at his reach, to see if more reactions could be caused.

Barricade almost let a laugh escape at the ridiculous words, -Was Prowl crazy or making fun of him? Just a breem ago he had almost choked him on his damned spike!- but it only came out as a forceful ex-vent as the Autobot traced his glossa through the grill of his chest-plates, tasting everything. And that, along with the servo that kept going south on his abdomen, and the insisting hips that keep smearing at his most private parts, were all doing disgusting (and sinfully enjoyable) sensations on his frame. 

"Go on, open for me. I promise I will make you feel really good."

The Saleen cursed his treacherous frame for liking any of this, and with his still locked optics in the nearest wall of the room, he let his interface panel open.

Not like this was the first time someone had abused his body. Barricade replayed those few times were he had waked up in unknown quarters with some equally unknown 'Con at the other side of the berth. His hips married with dents and bruises, his valve sore, and the brief flash of memory of various offered pieces of high-grade energon. 

Could this be classified as something similar? At least in those times, he was unconscious. Not like now. And the plus ingredient that definitely worsened everything was that this was happening with an Autobot -not any Autobot but _Prowl_ -.

The vents of the Mustang hiccupped at the presence of a single digit touching the contours of his valve lips, testing its contexture witch was still notably dry.

Just because his frame reacted to some inspections didn’t mean he would be ready to some full straight interfacing.

And Prowl obviously noted that. The tactician wanted nothing more than sink his full and stiff spike in that surely delicious passage in one single motion but he really would not hurt Barricade at the expense of his own pleasure.

 _Some tiny, whispering voice tried to resonate through his processor at that last reasoning, telling him that he was already hurting the Saleen in various ways since he had captured him. It probably came from some still activated logical part of him._

But Prowl ignored it olympically, far too engrossed in the taste that his glossa cached when he began to lick the folds of the exposed valve, noticing how Barricade couldn’t contain a buck generated on his hips, and involuntary causing the Autobot to sink even deeper.

Barricade couldn’t also stop the stupid motion of turning his helm and view the sight of his nemesis's face-plates buried in his most sensitive parts, and his cold icy blue optics meeting his own ones, obviously degusting the image of him twisting at his ministrations.

It was inevitable, no matter how much the Decepticon despised the act; his body was going to react naturally to the stimulation. His helm clang at the ground again, as the activation of his cooling fans resonated in the room. Prowl was now using his digits to move aside his outer lips, and drive his wicked broad glossa to nudge his ceiling node, doing circular motions around it. Barricade unfolded his dentas again, biting his own mouth-plates to contain the whims and moans that were already creeping in the back of his throat.

For Prowl, Barricade tasted surprisingly sweet. And satisfied with the sight of the more wetted valve, the tactician decided it was time to test some more deepened areas. He dragged two digits to his mouth and, smearing them with his drool, and combining them later with the slick fluids of his prisoner, he began sinking his digits in that oh so desirable little slit. First one, then a second when he found not so much resistance, but Barricade this time definitely couldn’t stop a whim escaping his intake.

Prowl wanted to hear more. His fingers started scissoring the entrance and touching the walls, searching for more special nodes that would make the Mustang entire frame shook in pleasure. His actions were soon rewarded when the calipers of the valve started to clamp around his digits, dragging even more whines and harsh vents searching for cold air.

Or at least, that's what it seemed at first sight.

Sure, he wanted those digits to keep reaching inside, he longed to buck his hips to deepen to friction and his whole sensor array had reached burning levels of temperature, it felt great, it felt good; but what Barricade whined for was for another reason, those where his almost pleading signals to try to make the Autobot _stop_. His processor still refused to let be clouded by pure lust so it still wanted to command his frame to do something, anything to prevent this, but also, his ridiculous pride collided in his little attempts to ask for mercy from his captor.

The results were the bubbling, pitiful and sobbed noises that were the perfect reflect of his conflicted frame. 

To Prowl, nothing of that was in sight, and if he managed to catch a glimpse of something like repulsiveness in the mech below him, he would surely ignore it. It was like all the morality code from his processor had been removed, and the only issue that mattered was the delightful act in front of him, his digits completely dirtied in the fluids that cute valve kept producing, that told him it was ready and arching to be filled. 

He arched to fill it too, probably since a good vorns ago. And as his throbbing spike was put in line to the entrance, Prowl couldn’t contain expressing his own perverse thoughts.

"You have no idea how many times I dreamed about doing this Barricade. I don’t know when you started to be so infuriating attractive to me but," his vents hitched at the sensation of the rim wrapping slowly around him. "I don’t regret one bit of doing this. You are practically a dream come true."

Barricade growled at the words, at the humiliating blissful feeling of his valve being penetrated (by a repugnant Autobot spike no less). The Mustang just wanted everything to end already. And if drowning himself in raw pleasure could be a momentary solution instead of the oppressing pain of being subjugated, then he would gladly take that option.

"Go on then. You want to frag me so damn much?" Barricade spat as his frame finally relaxed. "Then dig that slagging spike inside of me and fragging do it!" 

His words had an instant effect, as Prowl slammed his spike in one single motion, spreading abruptly the walls of the valve and earning the first authentic moan of pure bliss from Barricade.

As if some silent agreement had been seated between them, the two decided to concentrate in the only necessity that their frames craved at the moment.

Prowl didn’t let more ties stop him. He sated his servos on the thighs of the Saleen and drove his thick cord in and out of that deliciously heated channel, setting a steady but strong pace that made the fluids leak out in every movement. His optics rammed, transfixed, on the entire shivering body of the Decepticon in front of him, from those beautiful lips well stretched around his shaft, to that lithe intake opened expelling taunting, maddening pleas for more.

And Barricade truly wanted more. Now that his mind was seated, the Decepticon scout just arched to spread his legs more and be fragged until his tormenting thoughts could be put so back on his processor that it would be like they never existed. It was more comforting, and even easier to him now that he had off-lined his optics and audial sensors. It simply feel best, just concentrating in that well swollen spike that was making the walls of his valve flutter, how his entire frame trembled with every strong trust the heated mech adobe him provided, how those servos were surely going to leave bruises with such a harsh grip they were seating on his thighs.

Still Barricade wanted more. So much more. He just wanted to bury himself in it.

"Come on...come on! More! More! Harder!" 

Prowl obliged immediately. Barricade’s voice was like an aphrodisiac to his body, pulling it in motion at a second. The Autobot's servos moved to be set on the floor, serving as stabilizers as his top frame bent down closer to the slightly smaller body and his powerful hips snapped to a more punishing pace, making his throbbing length practically drill into the gushing sweet valve. 

The Mustang Saleen howled his approval, throwing back his helm and chastising mewls of pure bliss, his sensorial array finally overheating of so much charge that even made his voice crack in static. 

"Yes! Yes! Right t-there! Frag!" He wept harshly, using what was still left of strength to strangle his legs around the strong hips of his nemesis to drive that spike even deeper, hitting with full force at his ceiling node.

The whole experience was dragging Prowl to never know levels of his behavior. He growled like a cyber-canine, rutting savagely the tingly marvelous heat that appeared to suck him in every violent stroke. His dentas bared, aching to sink themselves in that appealing cables on the neck of his prey. 

"So good...you feel so incredibly good Barricade," Prowl snarled, hard, dominating and completely covering the smaller mech with his body, "I wish I could keep you like this, only for me-"

Barricade couldn’t hear anything, and it was for the best. His mind was completely foggy with raw carnal pleasure, his back arched and glued to the feverish frame shielding, enveloping him. The Decepticon didn’t even react negatively when a servo dragged his helm to the front of his perimeter, and mouth-plates slammed ferociously against his own ones, so lost was him on his own fantasy that he responded with the same eager force, entangling his glossa with the other, imagining it belonged to another mech, some faction mate he found attractive, some past lover, anyone. The only thing that mattered was that it feel _so fragging good._

His valve contracted and cycled, suffering the brutal thrusts, as an uncontrollable torrent of strong charge surged his frame, and the poor scout knew he was going to overload at any second. And Prowl sensed it, his spike felt strangled in those ripping walls that begged him to paint them with his strong seed. 

As their intakes separated, Barricade filled the heated room with his sobbing cries as the feeling of the overload shook his entire sensor-net, valve shaking violently and gushing transfluid. Prowl smirked at the feel, at the perverse sounds his turgid cord made as he pushed with final strikes, at least until a third one when his own transfluid practically erupted in the most deepened confines of the convulsing beautiful Decepticon below him. 

Blinded by the raw surge of energy, Prowl sunk his dentas in Barricade's neck, earning an ultimate shriek, as the thrusting on his hips continued, wanting to make sure that his entire coming load was kept inside.

It was too much for Barricade. Between the sensations of hot jets of fluid on his quivering valve, his array completely loosened of strength, the pain on his neck, and those still creeping feelings of rage and humiliation, he ended up completely drained of force. The Decepticon scout off-lined immediately, still with limbs trembling and lubricant dripping from his optics.

For half of a minute, Prowl laid there, still inside of the Decepticon, with his vents doing the most possible to cool his so much overheated panels. 

He looked at Barricade. His most wanted catch in the universe looked spent but beautiful, and he was still there, _all_ for him. 

It was an idea that had been dancing in his processor for a while, but after the recent experience, Prowl was sure he was going to carry it out.

He will be assured to provide Barricade of the so much needed energon, but not the sufficient to let him recover his whole strength. And he will probably leave that collar on his neck. It looked good on him.

_The tiny whispering reasonable voice in some part of his processor returned, trying to make him understand that what he was committing was an extremely bad, horrendous, immoral act._

Prowl ignored it again. It was strange, but he still didn’t regret anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeaaaah dont worry, Prowl's a good autobot, he just develop some unhealthy obsession with our dear precious Mustang in this case :p


End file.
